


Last Man Standing

by Geonn



Category: Sanctuary (TV)
Genre: Aftermath, Epilogue, Episode: s04e13 Sanctuary for None: part 2, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Missing Scene, Post-Series, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-23
Updated: 2012-05-23
Packaged: 2017-11-05 20:37:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/410772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Geonn/pseuds/Geonn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was never supposed to be like this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Last Man Standing

**Author's Note:**

> In honor of Sanctuary's untimely demise. :(

He wasn't supposed to _win_. If this was to be called winning. 

Ash stained his coat. He attempted to brush it away, but thought of where the ash had come from stayed his hand. The ash was Helen's building. Her life's work. The least he could do was wear it like a cilice for the rest of the evening. The five of them, they all played with the idea of immortality. Nigel, wise Nigel, had been the only one to reject it out of hand. Life was long enough going through it just once. But eternal life wasn't the goal. No. Immortality wasn't about living forever. It was about staving off death. Barring out the Grim Reaper lest some important endeavor was cut short. Nikola shuddered at the thought of leaving some experiment undone or some blueprint half-drawn for something as pedestrian as mortality.

Helen and Johnny. Nikola. James. They marched forward into the twentieth century, then the twenty-first, their sights on the horizon. He'd dreamt of the four of them standing on broken pavement as ashes rained down on them. The last survivors. Them and the cockroaches. A part of him imagined rebuilding the human race in their image. Helen and her three husbands. Babies galore. But he knew the truth. They would have warred until there was a single survivor.

Goddamn it, it was supposed to be _Helen._

Nikola quelled his rage, but barely. Good won. Heroes won. They rode into the sunset, they kissed the princess, they got their prize. They didn't blow themselves up in a blasted hari-kari move. They didn't destroy a _century_ of dedicated work just to take out a single man. Heroes didn't give up. And Helen Magnus was not second best in any contest.

He could still feel her lips on his. He idly held his hand up, not touching... not willing to brush away even a hint of a trace of her. For the first time since 1850, the world was without Helen Magnus.

He wept for its chances of survival now.

The children, the new ones, offered commiseration. He brushed them off more rudely than intended, but he wasn't in the mood. Who were they? Helen's team for the past three years? Twenty-six thousand hours. They could not even begin to comprehend his loss. Helen Magnus was gone. 

In the end, they had been allies. She had kissed his lips, held him close, told him to run. He'd seen it in her eyes. Through their trials and animosity, through their reluctant cooperation, after all this time, he had once again been her friend. He pressed the heel of his hand into the hollow of his eye. He wouldn't weep. He wouldn't soil Helen's memory by weeping for her. Helen, who had traveled through time, who fit more life into five years than most people managed in fifty. Helen Magnus. 

She lived for two hundred and seventy-five years, and she was still gone before her time. 

He held the glass by its base and looked through the liquid at the lamp. The wine was aged perfectly. An 1850 Chateau d'Yquem. Helen's vintage, meant to be a gift for her two-hundredth birthday. And then her three-hundredth. He never imagined he would drink it alone. It was a fitting tribute, however. He tilted the glass one way, then the other, and then stood and walked to the fireplace.

"Salud," he whispered. He poured the wine onto the logs, watched it sizzle as the heat evaporated it. Drinking wine was no tribute, especially not from him. No. A fitting tribute would be a willing sacrifice of a truly great wine. "May the angels grant you Sanctuary for a change." His elbow was bent on the mantle, his hand molded to the back of his skull. He stared at the flames, the wine completely burnt off now. 

He heard the door open and furtive footsteps on the hall, and he rolled his eyes before letting his head drop. "I told you I wanted to be left _alone_."

"Ah, Nikola."

His eyes snapped open at the familiar cadence of Helen's voice.

"You do many moods well. Maudlin..." She wrinkled her nose and shook her head. "Not your best."

Nikola paid little heed to the chair between him and her; he stepped off the arm and toppled it as he crossed the room with one large stride. He closed his arms around her and lifted Helen off her feet. She laughed, made a surprised noise as he kissed her, and stumbled slightly when he put her down. She rested her hands on his chest and smiled at him.

"Hello."

He slapped her hard enough to turn her head.

"Ah! Blimey." She touched her cheek and worked her jaw. "S'pose I deserved that."

He kissed her, as passionately as she had kissed him. She tilted her head and parted her lips, allowing his tongue to touch hers before she pulled back.

"How?"

"Henry." Her voice was softer now, delicate without the teasing. "His energy suit."

"It _worked_?" He sneered. "I owe him a pint. He'll choose some swill no doubt. Heineken or--"

"Nikola." He looked at her. "Focus."

He looked at her. Her, Helen. Alive. He touched her cheek with two fingers and said, "A favor."

"Of course."

"Next time you are in imminent danger of death... don't send me away. I'd rather succumb with you than continue on without."

Helen made a face. "Why, Nikola. I'm touched."

He bent down and formed his lips against hers. Helen accepted his kiss, her hands on his back, and he held her tighter.

This time he wasn't going to let her go even if the building fell down around their ears.


End file.
